Inseparable

The day moved fast, the way it always does when my hands are busy and my mind’s a thousand miles away.

Harvesting isn’t glamorous, but there’s something meditative about the rhythm of it—snip, sort, repeat. The sticky-sweet smell of the plants, the warmth of the sun on my back, the hum of casual conversation around me. It grounded me, kept me from spinning out too far in my head.

Tyler trotted along beside me like he owned the place, his tail wagging at a consistent, happy beat. The owners of the farm—thank the universe—were laid-back and totally fine with him tagging along. Honestly, I think he was more popular than I was. He’d made best friends with every person on the crew, collecting belly rubs and sneaky treats like some kind of golden-furred politician. I couldn’t take two steps without someone stopping to coo at him.

“Is he always this perfect?” one of the trimmers asked me, rubbing behind his ears.

“Only when he’s awake,” I grinned, watching Tyler lean into the attention like a king receiving tribute.

By late afternoon, the sun dipped low enough to cast everything in golden light. I found myself leaning back against a wooden crate, watching the way Tyler’s fur shimmered as he chased a butterfly through the rows. I had one week left on the farm. Just one. And then?

I didn’t know.

That was both the magic and the ache of this life. The freedom. The wide-open nothing. The choose-your-own-adventure of it all. It thrilled me. It terrified me.

That night, after washing the day’s dust from my skin and slipping into my comfiest sleep shirt, I curled up in bed with Tyler already passed out at my feet. My van glowed with the soft, warm light of string lights overhead, and the air smelled faintly of lavender from the sachet I kept above the bed.

I pulled out my phone, opened I*******m, and scrolled to the draft I’d queued up this morning. It was a photo of me and Tyler on the beach a some time ago—me in a bikini, holding Tyler’s paw, both of us mid-laugh (okay, I was laughing, Tyler just looked majestic) on a beach somewhere along the Oregon coast.

I tapped the caption box and deleted what I had written earlier.

Instead, I typed:

“Inseparable. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#vanlife #goldenhour #wanderwithblue #homeiswhereheis

I hit post.

Within minutes, the likes started rolling in—five thousand in the blink of an eye. Two hundred comments followed, most of them from people I’d met on the road. Travelers, dreamers, dog lovers, kind souls I’d crossed paths with at campgrounds and beaches and gas station parking lots. All of them cheering me on, loving Tyler, telling me they missed us.

I smiled, phone resting on my chest, heart a little fuller than before.

Yeah. This life wasn’t always easy. But it was ours.

And that counted for everything.

I pulled my MacBook out from the cubby next to my bed and propped it on my lap, My fingers hovered over the keys as I opened up my maps and zoomed out, just enough to see the whole damn continent stretched in front of me.

One week left here.

I could already feel it—the itch. The buzz under my skin that always hit right before a big move. The kind of restlessness that made my bones vibrate, made the horizon feel like a dare.

I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go next. South felt too hot, too familiar. West? Been there, done that. I let the map guide me like it always did, my eyes scanning, half on instinct.

Toronto.

My heart paused for a beat. I zoomed in, just enough to see the shape of the city against the lake, a cluster of streets, green parks, a glittering skyline. International border, yeah—but that was part of the thrill. It felt big. Bold. A little chaotic.

Totally alive.

I clicked open a few tabs—campgrounds outside the city, pet-friendly hotels just in case, a blog post about hidden gems in Toronto, a travel reel from someone who looked like they’d stepped out of my dreams. Music festivals. Street art. Coffee shops and local bands and lakeside sunsets.

Yes.

I felt that familiar buzz in my chest again. That moment where it all starts to click into place. The next step. The next story.

I opened my notes app and started typing:

– Route options

– Passport check

– Tyler’s vet records for crossing the border

– Harvest gigs along the way

– Places to sleep, eat, explore

I glanced over at Tyler, his paws twitching like he was chasing something in his dreams.

“Hope you’re ready to go international, buddy.”

He let out a sleepy woof and wagged his tail once.

I grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I kept the momentum going, letting the glow of the screen guide me deeper into planning mode. With one hand lazily scratching Tyler behind the ears, I opened up TravelSurfer, the site I always came back to when I needed something to tether me for a few weeks. Temporary jobs, odd gigs, work-trade listings—it was a lifeline for people like me, the half-wild, half-wandering.

I typed “Toronto” into the search bar and hit enter.

It loaded slowly—thanks, satellite internet—and then: boom. Dozens of listings. Dog walker, farmhand, retail clerk, mural assistant… but one stood out. A barista job at a cute little café downtown. The listing mentioned oat milk, playlists, and an “easygoing, artsy vibe.” I didn’t need much more than that.

I clicked through, heart doing a soft flutter. The photos showed string lights, mismatched mugs, handwritten chalk menus. I could already picture myself behind the counter, pulling shots of espresso, chatting with regulars, maybe journaling between shifts.

I hit apply without hesitation, filled out the short form, linked my @wanderwithblue profile, and wrote a quick note about how I made a mean lavender latte and had a dog that could probably charm even the grumpiest customer.

Once I submitted it, I sat back against the pillows and let out a slow breath. Now came the worst part—waiting. But I was used to that, too. You learn patience when the road is your home. When every plan depends on weather, timing, and the kindness of strangers.

Tyler stretched and rolled over, belly up and tongue lolling.

I nudged him with my foot. “Manifest it, buddy. Mama needs a good cup of coffee and some city noise.”

He sneezed in response.

Fair.